


The Bonds of Blood

by aronnaxs



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aronnaxs/pseuds/aronnaxs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>/post-DoS/</p><p>After his fight with the orcs in Lake-Town, Legolas follows Bolg back into the woods. Knowing his only child is facing the growing orc threat alone, Thranduil is forced to choose between his imposed isolation and the safety of his people or the safety of his own son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So. I loved the end part with Legolas in DoS and his fight with the orcs. It made me think of so many possible story lines that could happen in TaBA. This story involves some of my speculation for what could happen :)

Clawed, mangled, stinking hands ripped and pulled at him, trying to tear straight through to his abused flesh. He was twisted, shoved, jerked between the two of them, great putrid orcs, each wanting to get their sadistic fill of the elf, each craving to bring him down. With terrible glee, they battled him in front of their master, forcing him in the direction of their outstretched, slashing weapons. He ducked and rolled, continuously evading their blows, but his own sword only met with steel armour. They would push him away, sharpened blades missing his body by a hair's breadth. 

A blackened haze of fury had descended upon the outer rims of Legolas' sight. He throbbed with the screaming weight of it, moving as if possessed by a wild, vengeful spirit. The metal of Orcrist flashed and blinded in the starlight, a blur which was only stopped when smashing into its target. He shouted. He screamed. And they laughed.

One grabbed him by the hair, yanking him back into a vicious crush. He panted and struggled fiercely as the breath escaped him. Its arms dug into his ribs and they shrieked with the unnatural pressure. He writhed. One of his elbows dug deep into a weak spot in the orc's protection and he bounded forward. 

He went for his sword but the other beast grasped him like a rag doll, squeezing and wrenching his arm. He squirmed, resisting with all his frenzied strength. His heels scraped along wooden planks, searching for purchase. 

But then the world span. He was lifted and tossed, crashing, curling into a toppling stack of brimming boxes. They screeched with laughter. A cleaver dashed past his whirling head. Hands tugged at his belt to pull him up.

He slashed one of them off with a furious hack of Orcrist. It was met with a howl, a bubbling sound that intensified and heightened as the other appendage was decimated. Bloody stumps smeared against his tunic. He leapt to his feet, ignoring the tilt of the town about him as he finished the orc's pain in one foul sweep across its open neck. Thick black liquid spurted against him, blinding him, but he turned to the other creature, gasping, whole body vibrating.

The sound of clashes filled the choked air. Wide-eyed, feral, he met the orc's every thrust and swing, dashing the balance of the weapon, striking its momentum. As soon as he was near enough, he rammed a knee into the vermin's gut. It doubled over. He did it again, exposing a tear in the shield upon its back. With a cry, he drove the sword straight into the gap. It burst through the organs beneath, penetrating right to the other side, the tip peeking out of the stomach. The orc wailed. It fell, stone dead, to the ground.

Stained with black blood, Legolas raised the sword once again to meet the two foes' master. 

But the street was empty. 

He had gone. 

And suddenly the world was heaving and pulsing about him. 

His head slammed back into a wooden pole as he collapsed gratefully against it. His chest surged and swelled, breath fighting to come out in short, sharp pants. The sword nigh on slipped from his grasp when his knees began to soften beneath him. He coughed, spluttered, wiped the salty perspiration from his trembling lips.

It could hardly have been a minute since he left the dwarves. Hardly a minute since the orcs had ambushed him. Hardly a minute yet an age had seemed to pass.

He forced himself to remain upright, the suffocating fury gradually dissipating. Where was he? What had led him to this orc-ridden place? 

Esgaroth, that is where he now found himself, shaking in the aftermath of near death. He had followed Tauriel here, under some petulant delusion that she could handle thirty orcs on her own, flagrantly disobeying the king's orders. The dwarves; they were here also, being harboured in the house of some townsman. That's why she had ventured to the lake - wanting to protect that troublesome company, who had, until mere days ago, been the prisoners of his father. Her heart was far too young, far too impulsive. She should not have left, and neither should he. 

But he could not concentrate on that now. He reeked of death, throat clogged with a metallic burn. He leant back his head, saw through slitted eyes the dark forms of orcs leaping from rooftop to rooftop as they retreated from the town. This was no normal invasion. They had been sent here, under one prime objective. And they were coming from somewhere, hordes of them like breeding spiders infecting ever more lands. 

The dwarves had brought this upon them. 

Or so it seemed.

Slowly regaining his control, he gathered his sword and slid it back into its scabbard. He must return to the woodland realm, face his father's wrath at having left against his word. There was something gathering; more than merely escaped prisoners.

Yet a warm trickle of liquid dripping into his mouth abruptly stopped him from moving. He raised his hand, touched his lips. Crimson painted his pallid skin. No black orc blood. His own. He stared, frozen. Curiosity soon changed to rage. 

In the distance, there came the sound of heavy, rack steps. As he glared at the redness seeping through fingers, a figure moved in the periphery of his vision. A warg and rider, clattering through the night, making in the direction of the bridge back into the forest. The master of the orcs he had fought, the one who had disappeared as he destroyed his companions. 

It was time to move. 

The creature would not retreat so easily back to its venomous, dirty little hole.

Legolas had no thought for his father's words as he acquired the nearest horse he could find, leaping astride it and dashing after the withdrawing orc. The night faded into hazy black around him as he gave chase, the darkness tunnelled into one clear goal. No more blood would be spilt by the hands of these beasts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, sorry, this took me so long to do. I probably shouldn't write so many stories at one time haha! Plus, I kinda struggled with some parts of this chapter - I love writing the characters but it just wasn't happening with some of this. So I hope it reads alright :) Thanks for the feedback so far xx

The world was a teeming, rushing blur as Legolas tore into the tangled labyrinth of the forest. The hooves of the horse below him, smuggled out from the woodland realm, quickly matched the beat of his heart, pounding unceasingly in his ears, and gaining speed the further they ventured. It soon became the only noise he could hear; everything in these woods was swallowed by its hungry depths, leaving only one or two sounds behind. And in the darkness, it was all eerily distorted, a trick the mind (or unseen forces) liked to play.

He had lived in its boughs for one thousand years though and he knew better than to think it could be dominated or bettered. The elves who resided here tried only to co-exist beside it, never to claim ownership or a higher status. They respected the forest with a wary admiration and nothing, not even a falling leaf, would happen without the king knowing of it.

So, as Legolas returned into its arms, he knew exactly where to tread his horse, how to manoeuvre her through the twisting undergrowth, when to avert her path from the course they followed. It was a relationship of harmony that every elf excelled in. To be one with nature was in their blood. 

And that was why these filthy orcs would not last for a moment more between these trees. They desecrated and poisoned everything they touched, like the vermin they were and soon they would be lost to the omnipotent power of Mirkwood. It was futile to resist it. 

They would wither in their own arrogance at daring to cross the elven borders. 

That was if Legolas did not find them first.

However, minutes after entering into the woods, the orc he had been following disappeared into the bleakness. They were not the most subtle of creatures but soon, not even a trace of his trampling warg feet, or the panting of his heavy breath, could be heard. The black void around Legolas swallowed all in its gaping mouth and it was not long before even the ears of his horse, let alone more distant creatures, were difficult to distinguish. This was the whim of the forest, an unpredictable, tempestuous animal in itself.

But he kept moving, kept galloping over the invisible ground in a direction which he let his elven senses dictate. It was not the first time he had to rely on something less tangible than the mortal world about him. He concentrated, even as they raced along, and allowed his thoughts to open up, all encumbering decisions vanishing. Only the will of the natural elements around him (though veiled they may be) guided him through the darkness.

And, soon, he was rewarded by a faint, but gradually growing, change of smells about him. The heady musk of the woodland began to fade and its sweet perfume was replaced by a far more distasteful scent: pungent, rotting flesh and perpetual wounds. It could only mean one thing - he was gaining ground on the lone orc, creeping up on his retreating back.

What he would do with him when he finally reached him he was not entirely sure. His duty to the realm instructed that he should take him back to his father - after all, this one did not appear to be just another foot soldier. But the blood boiling furiously in his veins at the havoc they had wreaked upon his home and Esgaroth was quickly swaying his heart. He did not trust in his own control that he could come before this beast and have the coolness to merely take him prisoner. Not when he could still smell his own blood lingering in the air.

Suddenly, somewhere in the vastness before him, there was a flash of dull white dashing between vegetation. He snapped his head immediately in its direction, trying to determine the distance and speed of it in the fleeting moment he had. Though the labyrinth of vines and leaves obscured most of its movements, he saw plainly that it must have been the orc. No other creature of this forest could be so lumbering and heavy. Despite himself, he smiled. There would be no chance to escape his perception now.

So, driving his heel further into the tight flanks of the horse, he sped faster into the night, heatedly tracking the trampled road. It would not be long until he came face to face with this wretched commander again.

And then he would determine if he was worthy enough to be taken prisoner. 

\---

Even though they were sealed in by their thick, cavern walls, Thranduil felt the night as it fell around them. He knew when it was morning, he knew when it was noon, he knew when it was evening; there was not much that passed the woodland king's attention. It was a quality he was both feared and heralded for. No one dared to try and outwit him or his eerie senses for their own safety and dignity. 

But, when a guard had come rushing up over the carven paths to his dais hours ago, Thranduil had known something had slipped his eye. He watched him hurry with a momentary clenching in his heart before forcing it down out of sensibility. He merely stared at the elf as he advanced closer, not being able to help noticing the concern and worry in his face. There was only one thing that could mean. Only one thing that this messenger would possibly say. 

He watched him bow, grovelling apologetically, when he reached the floor before his throne. Even as he started to speak, he did not raise his eyes, did not venture to look upon the king with these tidings. "My Lord," he uttered breathlessly. "I regret to be the one that gives you this information, I wish it was not so, but -" 

"Legolas has left, has he not?" 

Thranduil's words made the guard raise his head in surprise. His brow furrowed in an image of sympathy and he nodded. Thranduil sighed, anger rising as quickly as a flooded river within him. It had only been a short time since he had expressly forbidden anyone to leave the realm. These orders were established for a reason; they were not merely spouted because of superficial whims, no matter how much Legolas and Tauriel made them appear or how much they -

Tauriel. 

Thranduil narrowed his eyes as the realisation quickly came over him. Legolas must have been swayed by her, convinced to follow in her rebellious stead. In the days that had preceded their escape, she had taken an unnatural interest in the dwarves; her feelings of intrigue and treacherous sympathy had hardly been veiled. It was obvious that she looked on them with a kindred heart. And now that the orcs had followed them into Esgaroth...

The king leant forward to the guard as another wave of fury crashed down upon him, unpredictable, volatile. He flinched a little, tilting his head back out of range. "And I suppose Captain Tauriel has also taken her leave of us?" Thranduil hissed to him. "I suppose she has also neglected her duties to the realm?" 

The elf again nodded. "Yes, my Lord. She left not long before the Prince." 

Thranduil sat back, breathing out harshly in what sounded eerily like a sardonic chuckle. He curled his hand about one of the spikes of his throne, squeezing it in his palm. "I guessed correctly," he said, averting his gaze to the strong, carven pillars surrounding the chamber. Stretching as far as the eye could see, they were symbols of the kingdom's fortitude and endurance. Many centuries had passed with Thranduil as its ruler and he had done everything in his power to protect it and keep its people safe, as his father had striven to do. But now these dwarves, and these orcs trailing them, had abused his beautiful lands and Legolas and Tauriel were testing every nerve of his patience. In nigh on a thousand years, hardly anyone had strayed from this realm yet in one day, they had lost far too many. 

"My Lord," the guard's voice suddenly broke into his reveries. He looked away from the pillars and stone and down into questioning, concerned eyes. This elf was young, Tauriel's age or even more youthful; he did not truly understand the ways of the world yet. There was so much more to learn. "Shall I assemble a party to look for the prince and the captain, sire? Their journey was directed towards Esgaroth. They cannot be far away." 

Thranduil paused a moment before shaking his head. He ignored the guard's barely concealed frown as he said, "nay, do not. You said it yourself - they cannot be far away. And they will be armed - no harm will come to them. Soon both will realise the folly of their ways and return."

But that had been hours ago and still Thranduil sat upon his throne, staring down the curving pathways towards the main gate. The day descended into night around the palace yet not a sign of Legolas or Tauriel came to him. He paced, he strutted, he roamed his dais like some wild animal trapped in a cage and no one except from his personal wardens came near him. All knew that when the prince and the captain returned, his wrath would be unfathomable. It was not something any desired to awaken prematurely. 

But, when the king had finally finished his impatient walking, and he ascended again to his antlered seat, the stillness he exuded was almost as terrible. He became as frozen as an ever-watchful sentinel, only the occasional flickering of his icy eyes a sign of life within. In silence, he waited, a tense, unpleasant, fuming silence, and not a sound escaped him; not a sound but one statement, whispered forlornly some time in the heavy evening to the oaken pillars about the chamber:

"It is troublesome enough to be father to an entire kingdom. But far more troublesome to be father to an unruly, wayward child."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so awful at updating, I'm so sorry xD But thanks for all the feedback and kudos so far - I love you :)))

The first thing that Legolas noticed was the noise. All of a sudden, everything had gone quiet, deathly so. It felt as if the wind had stopped blowing, the animals ceasing their night cries, the leaves stilling. Everything appeared to become eerily calm, like the whole world was holding its breath for something. The sensation drove an unexpected shiver down Legolas' spine, instantly making him come to a halt in his pursuit through the forest. He had dealt with strife before, dealt with anticipation and uncertainty but this...this was different. Never before had he had a knowing so strong that there was a vicious, unstoppable storm approaching. It made his very skin crawl.

And then came the roar and an awful crash. Almighty, sickening sounds that travelled from faraway but seemed deafeningly loud to his sensitive elven ears. A great whoosh pieced through the dark sky and made all the trees tremble around him. After the strange serenity, there instantly came a maelstrom of panic, a terrifying orchestra bursting into life.

With a horrible, sharp piercing in his gut, he abruptly realised what was happening.

The dragon. He had come.

All the breath rushed from him, as if he had just been stabbed. He turned around, straining to see through the shaking woods, but there was merely blackness on all sides, blocking it out and keeping him in. At the intensity of the claustrophobia, his instinct arose. He had to get out, he had to help them... The people of Esgaroth were poor, starving, defenceless - they did not have the strength to match a full-sized fire drake. They needed aid. And quickly.

In the heady rush of adrenaline, he forgot about the orc he was trailing and immediately tried to race back East. He dug his heels into the belly of the horse but she wouldn't move, bucking and whinnying in terror. Even here, the air of terror and impending doom could be sensed and she became paralysed in it, refusing to go any further. Legolas was forced to dismount, grasping his weapons and desperately searching for the path at their feet. But in their hasty flight after catching a glimpse of their prey, they had abandoned it somewhere along the way and now only rotten leaves were cast around them, hiding everything below. They had become lost. 

And this forest was unforgiving to its wayward travellers, cocooning them in its black embrace. Especially now in its tangible panic. There was no chance in finding the way back in time to send help now.

Legolas felt his temper flare. He had failed them by leaving, rushing away to pursue a comparatively unimportant enemy in the face of the brewing pandemonium. He had abandoned them to this... This horror, this anguish.

His emotions crashed down upon him like a drowning flood. The world beginning to pulse and curve, Legolas was forced to shoulder his bow and retreat back to the horse. He tried to block out the distant sounds but his heightened perception would not allow him to. Screams and cries and shouts for mercy echoed around him, taunting him that he could not do a thing to stop them. He stared into the surrounding void, riven with guilt, breath catching and coming out too fast. So many children were in that town; he had seen them, clinging to each other, frightened eyes shining with the terrible notions of what was coming for them. He and Tauriel should have done something, he should have stayed..

Tauriel. She was still there, her disobedience leading her to remain with the injured dwarf. She had stumbled into the midst of that destruction.

Heart in his mouth, Legolas knew he could not merely stand by and listen anymore. He had to see, he had to know what was happening. So he turned and as nimbly as ever, despite his highly excited state, climbed the nearest tree until the sky began to appear around him. Instantly, the scent of blazing wood and raging fire rushed up. It squeezed his throat, made him choke and sputter out loud. So potent was its stranglehold that for a moment, he had to stop and grasp a nearby branch for support. Never in all his life had he sensed something quite like this...

He almost did not want to view the destruction he knew would be in sight just over the top of the trees. But he could not remain ignorant. It felt even more soul-rending to turn a blind eye to something he had run away from, than to face it front on. 

A few more steps, hand and feet, hand and feet, moving quickly, and he reached the final parting of the leaves. He pushed them out the way, hoping the forest would forgive his haste, and tried to ignore the piercing burn in his throat as he reached the open air. The smell was even more pungent out here at the apex, nothing between him and Esgaroth to stop it. He wiped at the water in his eyes, coughing. Elves did not usually get so affected by sensations but this was beyond anything he had experienced before. There was rank death in the atmosphere, hanging heavily and turning his blood to fire and ice.

In his disorientation, he realised he had turned West instead of East while rising through the tree, almost as if the forest did not want him to see what was occurring beyond its borders. Quickly, he turned. 

He was not fully prepared for the sight which came before him.

When thinking of it afterwards (and there would be many days when it arose to him again), he would always remember the odd serenity of the surrounding lands about Esgaroth. The lake around the shores was peaceful and still, the distant woodland realm silent, almost as if nothing was wrong. It was dreadfully eerie and unreal, like looking at it through a dream.

But it only made the destruction that the dragon was wreaking seem even more shocking. High in the sky the great beast flew, blocking out the moon and stars with his bulk, and vomiting searing flames from his fiery stomach. They licked and tore at the feeble wooden buildings below, consuming them in mere seconds, and throwing ash into the midnight darkness. Within the besieged town, people ran to and fro, knowing only to keep moving, not where to or where from. Yet there was nowhere they could go in the weak, rotten place. Soon there would be nothing left of it.

Legolas watched in horror as the dragon descended once again, all his weight smashing through the southern gates and any of the houses that stood in his way. He tossed his head, laying low an entire street, and then whipped his tail straight through the bell tower of the town hall. It plummeted through the boardwalks and sank deep into the waters below; the fate of much of the town that night, if it didn't succumb to the blaze first.

As it was, Legolas could see many people jumping from the besieged area and into the lake. He followed their course, hearing them scream even as they swam, and craved to shout at them as the beast took up the chase, appearing to make a game of grabbing them in his claws and throwing them high in the air. Legolas trembled and shook in fury for the poor population of the place he had known so well throughout his life. He was no stranger to its inhabitants, having visited often for trade before his father became too suspicious of the outside world and contact had run thin. It made him feel sick as he was forced to observe their lives being ripped so viciously away from them. 

He still remembered the roads, the buildings, the desperation of existence there and he knew that they could not survive this brutal attack. It was like a hurricane swallowing them up into its endless wrath. And he was powerless to help - so far away, a simple witness to this chaos. All those children, the poor and the hungry, Tauriel...

He could not watch anymore. He could not bear it. He had to get back to his father, unite with him before the dragon moved onto to their kingdom. The thought made him his heart clench acutely. He must be there to help his people if he could not help Esgaroth. 

Head throbbing, he hurried back down the tree and leapt onto the ground below. Now he had seen the space from up high, he knew the direction he had to take without the path. At a swift gallop, it should only take an hour or so to reach his home.

But when he reached the area where he had left his petrified horse, he found she was not there anymore. The clearing was empty, a disturbance of the leaves the only sign that she had once been present. Immediately, Legolas knew something was wrong. An intense pressure grew upon his back, piercing him, as though there were eyes watching his every movement. Without hesitating, he notched an arrow into his bow and turned, quickly, masterfully, ready to release the missile into whoever was there.

It whistled through the air and would have been perfectly on target had it not been for the dreadful mace that suddenly blocked its path. Legolas' eyes widened in shock before narrowing to a vicious scowl. The orc from Esgaroth. He stood across from him now, mere steps away, a lumbering shadow, armed to finish what he had started earlier. His mangled features twisted into a menacing leer, his fists clenching around the weapon, prepared to strike. 

But he was not the only one. 

A stark contrast to the creature's heaviness, Legolas wasted no time in agilely reaching for another arrow. He did not care how the orc had escaped him, how he had returned, only bothered about aiming and drawing back the string with deadly speed. 

Yet he was still too late. Too late to hear the approaching movement at his sides, too late to see the malicious snarl cross the beast's face, too late to feel his arms grabbed by unseen hands. And too late to stop it as a mighty blow fell onto the back of his head, rendering him swiftly into darkness...

\---

"My lord!" 

Heart pounding, Galion hurried into the throne room as quickly as he possibly could. His head was swimming, chest aching, blood pumping through his veins. Never again did he think he would see such destruction and chaos with his own eyes. For years and years, his king's realm had tried to be a haven for them all, defending against attacks from trespassing orcs and spiders. Although he had heard talk of an approaching darkness, he could never quite believe it would come, or rather, the vastness of its effect. All that was behind them, ages past...

But now, he had witnessed it - the dragon that many had whispered about for centuries, his wings a hurricane, claws like spears, death on his every breath. At first, he had felt it, a terrible oppressive air that quickly constricted his very lungs. Something was dreadfully wrong. So, with Elros, he had climbed to the highest part of the caverns and up into the sky, needing to see, needing to know. 

And there he had been - soaring over Esgaroth, lighting up the night with a raging fire and decimating the vulnerable, wooden town below. It was one of the most terrible sights he had ever seen. All those people there, unable to escape from the impending cataclysm which pursued them. There would be nowhere to go but to face this awful drake.

With an abrupt clarity, Galion suddenly realised that the prince was still there. He had followed Tauriel only hours ago and had not returned. They would be right in the path of the dragon...

Galion had run directly to his king, ignoring the hive of concerned conversation around him. Yet when he had reached the throne room, he discovered that Thranduil was nowhere to be found, his seat empty and the guards vanished from the dais. Galion did not wait though and instead, dashed from the chamber, intent on finding him. At the closed front gates, he almost collided with one of the sentinels, such was his haste.

"King Thranduil," he babbled. "Where is his majesty?" 

"He departed for the heights not long ago," was the answer. "Many of his guards were with him." 

Instantly, Galion knew why Thranduil had left. If he had felt the coming of the dragon, surely the king, who sensed everything about him, must have known. Galion's stomach turned at the notions of what he could be thinking, forced to witness such irreversible calamity once again...

"I must go to him," the butler implored but he was met with denials. 

"The king gave express orders not to have any follow him."

"You do not understand -" But Galion was soon interrupted by the sound of a loud elven horn signalling on the other side of the gates. Quickly, the guards turned from him and tugged on the chains and ropes to pull the doors open. Galion stared in horror as his king swept immediately back inside. His skin was deathly pale, his eyes wide and tempestuous. When he approached him, he could see the minute trembles rippling through his tense body. He had seen the wrath and ruin once more.

"Galion," he said firmly and the butler snapped up to receive his commands. But he had not expected the following one to come from his lips. "Fetch me my armour."

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT 06/03/15: I wanted to apologise for the loooong amount of time that I haven't updated this for. I'm still getting comments on it and thank you so much for that. I just wanted to say that this is on hiatus, and I'm not sure if I'll pick it up again as I kind of lost inspiration for it. Thank you all for your lovely comments though, and there'll probably be some more Tolkien fanfic in the future :)


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